#it was actually so disgustingly manipulative of him to say 'Remember when we met as a family?' when Asma is so ill

[kirstythejetblackgoldfish]

ChatGPT story about Bashar, Erdogan, and Bashar's young Syrian-Russian-Armenian aide Dmitri Ghasabian on a Bosphorus ferry tour:

Here's a fun take on that scenario:

Erdogan stands at the bow of the ferry, one hand gripping the rail as the cold Bosphorus wind tugs at his coat. His other hand gestures broadly toward the skyline, his voice carrying over the sound of waves lapping against the boat.

“And that,” Erdogan says, pointing dramatically across the water, “is Dolmabahçe Palace. Magnificent, isn’t it? Built by the Ottomans in the mid-19th century. They spared no expense.”

Bashar nods politely beside him, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes follow the line of Erdogan’s finger, though he’s seen the palace before. A few paces behind, Dmitri stands stiffly by the railing, doing his best to focus on the architecture and not the unsettling sway beneath his feet.

“And there,” Erdogan continues, now pointing toward the shadowy form of the Maiden’s Tower, “centuries of legend. Some say a sultan’s daughter was kept there to avoid a prophecy. Istanbul is a city of stories.”

“Impressive,” Bashar replies with a slight smile, his tone diplomatic.

Erdogan turns toward him with a knowing look. “You should bring your wife next time. Asma would enjoy the views.”

Dmitri, still lingering awkwardly behind them, shifts his weight. The ferry dips again, and he instinctively grips the cold metal of the railing, swallowing hard. Bashar’s eyes flick to him briefly.

“You’re awfully quiet back there, Dmitri,” Erdogan says suddenly, his sharp gaze locking onto him. “Are the views not to your liking?”

Dmitri straightens immediately, offering a tight-lipped smile. “No, no. It’s stunning, Mr. President. I just… prefer solid ground.”

Erdogan chuckles, clapping him on the shoulder—perhaps a little too forcefully. “Ah, not a sailor, I see.”

Dmitri nearly stumbles forward from the clap, biting back a grimace. “Not exactly.”

As Erdogan turns back toward Bashar to continue his running commentary on Istanbul’s landmarks, Bashar subtly steps closer to Dmitri.

“Breathe through your nose,” Bashar says under his breath, his voice calm.

“I’m breathing fine,” Dmitri replies, though his knuckles are visibly white against the railing.

The ferry tilts again, this time with a little more force. Dmitri closes his eyes for a moment, steadying himself.

“And that bridge—” Erdogan gestures grandly to the Bosphorus Bridge ahead, “—connects two continents. Asia on one side, Europe on the other. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Bashar nods along, but his eyes drift back to Dmitri, whose face has taken on a slightly paler hue.

Erdogan pauses, watching Bashar’s divided attention. His brow furrows as he narrows his eyes at Dmitri. “You sure you’re alright? You look like you’ve seen one of those seagulls up close.”

As if on cue, a loud squawk erupts from above, and two seagulls swoop low, one of them landing just a few feet away. The bird tilts its head at Dmitri, as if judging him.

Dmitri tenses, exhaling slowly. “I’m fine.”

Erdogan smirks, clearly unconvinced. “Ah, a bit of seasickness. You know, I once hosted someone from Brussels who turned green on this very same ride.”

Bashar, though maintaining composure, can’t help but glance at Dmitri with mild concern. “Perhaps we should head inside. It’s colder than it looks.”

Erdogan shakes his head. “Nonsense. Fresh air is good for the constitution. Besides, we’re almost at the pier.”

Dmitri doesn’t respond, but Bashar catches the slightest wince as the boat rocks again.

“Well,” Erdogan adds, leaning casually against the railing, “if you make it without feeding the seagulls, I’ll consider this a diplomatic success.”

Dmitri lets out a quiet sigh, eyes locked firmly on the pier ahead, silently counting down the minutes.

You said:

Continue

ChatGPT said:

As the ferry glides closer to the pier, Dmitri keeps his gaze fixed on the approaching shoreline, as if sheer willpower alone could pull them in faster. The seagull inches closer, pecking at the deck with a few decisive taps that sound far too loud in the stillness.

Bashar notices Dmitri’s rigid posture, and without drawing attention, shifts slightly, positioning himself between Dmitri and Erdogan’s line of sight.

“Don’t let him see,” Bashar murmurs, low enough that only Dmitri can hear.

Dmitri grits his teeth and nods, though his grip on the railing hasn’t loosened. The rhythmic sway of the ferry, even as it slows near the pier, feels magnified. He can practically hear his own pulse in his ears.

Erdogan, arms folded, glances sidelong at them with thinly veiled amusement. “You know,” he says with the air of someone enjoying himself far too much, “I’d expect this from someone unused to the sea. But I thought Russians handled rough waters well.”

Dmitri exhales a strained chuckle. “I… I suppose I missed that lesson.”

Bashar gives Erdogan a faint smile but says nothing, sensing Dmitri’s growing discomfort.

The boat shifts one last time as the crew secures the ropes along the dock. Dmitri releases the railing, subtly wiping his damp palm against his coat.

“Ah,” Erdogan says with satisfaction. “Land at last. See, that wasn’t so bad.”

Dmitri doesn’t respond, stepping off the ferry with the careful deliberation of someone trying not to stagger.

As the group makes their way toward the waiting cars, Dmitri feels Bashar’s hand press lightly against his back—a gesture of reassurance.

“I told you to stay inside,” Bashar says softly, so Erdogan won’t overhear.

“I didn’t want to be rude,” Dmitri mutters back, though his pace slows as they approach the black sedan.

“Next time, be rude,” Bashar replies, opening the car door for him.

Erdogan slides into the vehicle ahead of them, already launching into another story about the Bosphorus and his many visits to its shores.

As Dmitri sinks into the seat, he leans his head back, exhaling a quiet breath of relief. Bashar follows him inside, offering a slight smirk as he fastens his seatbelt.

“Let me know if you need a sick bag,” Bashar says under his breath, just as the car begins to move.

Dmitri cracks one eye open, offering a faint glare. “I’ll manage.”

Bashar’s smirk lingers as he settles in for the drive, but he watches Dmitri out of the corner of his eye, just in case.

[fullmoonremus]

Paper Cut Part 2 | Edmund Pevensie x Reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: Making out/kissing

Time/Era: Modern AU but the Pevensies have been to Narnia. 

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Y/N confronts Edmund about the intense injuries she had received in the past. 

A/N: Here’s the second part to paper cut :) If you haven’t read the first part, link below! Please send requests :D Enjoy! 

Part 1 | Part 3 | masterlist | read on ao3

“Edmund, I think you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Edmund’s face was unreadable, almost as if it was made of stone. He stayed quiet; the only sounds that filled the air were the shuffling of the barista and the espresso machine. Y/N wished he would just say something. The silence was damning. 

“Edmund?” His gaze didn’t falter at his name but stayed glued to Y/N’s hand. His eyes traveled up her arm, taking mental notes of every scar, bruise, bump, or cut. Edmund stood up without a word, the chair making a painful screeching noise in his path, and walked out of the coffee shop. 

Meeting her soulmate had been completely different in her head; maybe they would fall into each other’s arms in the streets of London. He would sweep her off of her feet after noticing a small scar on her neck and say something disgustingly romantic. “I’ve been waiting for you, Y/N, you’re even more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.” Then, they would fall madly, deeply in love, and adopt a dog. Fall wedding perhaps? Maybe summer? But here Y/N sat, one hand on her stomach, the other gripping a foreign notebook. Before Y/N could process what was happening, Edmund was out of sight and she was left to her own thoughts. 

~

“Y/N! Wake up!” Y/N was startled by Y/B/F/N shaking her awake. “Don’t you have a final in like an hour?” 

That sentence felt like a bucket of ice water. Y/N sprung up from her warm bed and scrambled to get ready. The clock seemed to run dangerously fast and by the time she opened the door of her lecture hall, the test was being passed out. 

“You have three hours and because I’m in such a good mood, you may use your study guide.” The professor continued to pass the packets around the room. They looked thick and time-consuming. Time management had never been Y/N’s strong suit. 

When she was handed her paper, all she could do was take a deep breath. This professor was a harsh grader, so unless her answers were 100% correct, there was no way Y/N would pass. She took the unfamiliar notebook she received from Edmund out of her bag and opened it to his scribbled notes. 

His handwriting was somewhere in between messy and neat; some of the words ran into one another and they were all slanted to the right slightly, yet the letters were beautifully constructed and entirely intelligible. Edmund also took it upon himself to highlight passages he deemed important with a note at the beginning that read: my sister had to take o chem. I asked her what’s important. That was sweet, Y/N thought. 

It seemed as if Edmund knew what he was talking about, too. Each answer was answered completely with further background information to make it easy to understand. Why would you willingly take this? Seems like hell… was written in the margins next to one of the boxes of text. I could say the same about law, sweater boy. 

By the time Y/N had finished her final, the three hours had turned into 10 minutes. She was one of three students left in the classroom and the other two were looking beyond panicked. Most of the class seemed to have either blazed through it like it was an 8-year-old’s math homework or given up halfway through and accepted their loss. Y/N, however, had to pass this class so she triple-checked her answers, took a daydream break, then checked it again. She would be lying if she said her daydreams didn’t consist of Edmund. She wondered if he would ever text her again. 

The young girl hurriedly walked out of the classroom, happy to be done with the semester. She wrapped her jacket tightly around her and braced herself to brave the aggressive weather. 

“Hey,” A voice from her right called out. It was Edmund; he was leaning against the wall lazily. His nose was a bright pink, as were his cheeks, and his hands were pushed into his pockets for warmth.

“Edmund? What are you doing here? You must be freezing!” Y/N walked over to him and looked him once over. A simple long sleeve shirt, vest, and jeans. Y/N slung her wool scarf around his neck. 

“Oh, uh, thanks…” He pushed himself off of the wall with his shoulder. Damn, his shoulders were huge. 

“I’m sorry about the coffee shop, I didn’t mean to jump you like that,” Y/N apologized bashfully. He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“No, I get it. I would have the same reaction. That’s, uh, why I’m here.” Edmund was awkward, looking anywhere but her eyes. Instead, he observed her freckles, eyebrows, and cheeks. “I was wondering if we could, uh, talk? Maybe somewhere private? Like my dorm?”

“Oh, so you want to take me, your newly discovered soulmate, back to your dorm?” Y/N had a hint of mischief in her eyes and a teasing smile on her lips. Edmund’s eyes grew wide and he started to sputter. 

“That’s not what I meant! I would never! I mean unless you wanted to, but no! I just meant to talk,” His cheeks are red again, but this time it wasn’t from the cold. 

“I’m just taking the piss, let’s go, vesty.”

~ 

Edmunds dorm was not what she was expecting. One side looked like it was hit by a tornado, but the other was very organized. Even on the floor, there was a distinct division between the two sides. The neat side, which appeared to be Edmund’s, was very plain. His bed was made with a red duvet and black pillows, his desk was blank besides a small pencil cup, and the cork board hanging above his desk had reminders and pictures. 

“Those are my siblings,” Edmund noticed Y/N’s wandering eyes. “They’re practically dying to meet you, Y/N.”

“How did you know my name? I never told you,” She crossed her arms and strained her neck to look back at him. 

“Ah, so I was right, you don’t remember me. We took a few classes together during first and second years. I always thought you were cute, so I guess it stuck.” Now it was Y/N’s turn to blush. 

“You think I’m cute?” Her arms uncrossed and turned so she was facing him head-on. 

“Well, yeah. You are my soulmate, after all, Y/N. Don’t be silly,” Edmund seemed to be growing more and more comfortable. He was enjoying watching her blush because of what he said; it made a sense of pride grow in his stomach. This was his person, and she was standing right in front of him. 

“Speaking of soulmates…” Y/N trailed off and looked towards the floor. Her hands grasp the zipper of her jacket and unzip it, before rolling up the bottom of her shirt. The jagged scar was on full display, a stark contrast against the skin of her abdomen. Edmund eyed it guiltily; he knew the exact pain she had to go through to get that scar. She had to go through that pain because of him. His own hands found the bottom seam of his own clothes and pulled it up to reveal a matching mark. 

“I can explain but you won’t believe me,” His honey-brown eyes met hers. 

“Try me, Pevensie.” 

He led her to sit on her bed and sat next to her. Y/N hastily kicked off her shoes so she could sit with her legs crossed on her bed. Her shoes tumbled to the ground with two thuds. Edmund, on the other hand, just bent one leg and let the other hang off the edge. He took her hands in his. 

“You have to promise me to listen to it all before you ask questions,” Edmund fidgeted nervously with a ring on Y/N’s fingers as they spoke. Y/N didn’t know if this was on purpose or a subconscious action, but it comforted her all the same.  

“Well, when I was young my parents sent my siblings and me to live away from home. When we were there, my little sister Lucy discovered a wardrobe in one of the spare rooms. Well, inside the wardrobe was this beautiful land called Narnia. It was gorgeous and huge! And when I say huge, I mean HUGE!” He caught himself rambling excitedly and reeled it back in. “Well, uh, anyway, there was this woman, we called her the White Witch and she manipulated me into basically selling my siblings out. The entire nation of Narnia got into a huge battle and the White Witch stabbed me.” 

“Did she lock you up somewhere cold?” Y/N asked, disregarding her promise to stay quiet. 

“Um, yeah. She locked me in this big ice cell. It wasn’t fun. I’m pretty sure I almost got frostbite but my body rejected it because I started warming up randomly.”

Y/N smiled. The paper towel. 

“But that scar on your stomach,” He took his hand away from yours and gently touched your stomach. “Is because she stabbed me. But again, my sister Lucy had this special liquid that could heal any injury.” 

Edmund seemed to smile at the memory. “Long story short, my siblings and I got crowned Kings and Queens of Narnia and ruled for a number of years. We then got sent back-”

“Wait, wait, wait, Kings, and Queens? Who are you? Alexander the Great?” Her tone was teasing and unbelieving. 

“Edmund the Just, actually. And I told you to listen!” His smile reached his eyes this time. “Well we came back to earth through the wardrobe and we were kids again! About a year later, we returned to Narnia and met our good friend Caspian. We had to fight Caspian’s home country. In the end, Aslan helped us and Caspian became a king as well.”

“Who’s Aslan?” Y/N was doing her best to keep up and believe the information, but it was quite hard. 

“He’s a big lion, he’s kind of like the ruler of Narnia. I guess you could say a God? I guess…”

“A big lion god? Edmund…”

“I know it sounds crazy, Y/N. I know but you have to believe me! I went one more time with Lucy and my cousin. We were on a big Naval ship with Caspian and we had to find a bunch of swords-”

“Edmund, love, just tell me the truth.” Y/N was sad that right off the bat her soulmate was lying to her. Edmund’s eyes seemed to lose their sparkle. 

“I would never lie to you, Y/N. Here, look.” He took off Y/N’s scarf and gently placed it on the bed before pulling his vest and shirt over his head. On his rips was a beautifully drawn tattoo of a lion that appeared to be roaring. And on his collarbone was a sword. Y/N delicately reached her hand out and ran her fingertips against the drawing of the weapon. It had insane detail and the way it was drawn made it look sharp. Y/N retracted her hand and sat back. 

“That’s one of the swords we found during my third trip. It was gifted to Caspian by the lord who owned it. And this is Aslan. His roar was the most powerful magic in all of Narnia.” Edmund searched Y/N’s face for any emotion she was feeling. Right now, she was staring at the sword with a pondering look on her face. 

“Okay, say you were a king-”

“I am a king.”

“Fine, you’re a king. What exactly did you do, ya know, as a ruler?”

“Well, me and my brother Peter ran the army and trained them for battle. Along with other things like managing trade and creating political policies.”

“So, fighting? You fight?”

“Yeah, I fought in many battles, big and small. I got stabbed, remember.” His smile was cheeky and he pulled his long sleeve back on. “Once I got good, I didn’t even use a shield. I fought with two swords.”

“TWO? Aren’t those things heavy?”

“Well, yes, but when you went through all of the training I did, it gets easier.” Edmund could tell he was starting to believe him. 

“Tell me more.”

~

The two spent the next few hours discussing the ins and outs of Narnia down to the floor plan of Cair Paravel. Y/N had decided that Edmund had way too much detail to be making it up, and even if he did, it was so magical that she wouldn’t even be mad. 

“Okay, vesty, I believe you.” Y/N says after Edmund gave a lengthy explanation about all the gifts his siblings received and what they do. He stopped mid-word and stared at her. 

“You believe me? Really?” 

Y/N smiled and nodded. “Yes, Edmund. I’m going to be spending my life with you, your highness, so I may as well get familiar with it.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Edmund scooted closer to her. “I hated it even when people in Narnia called me that. I don’t need people outside of Narnia calling me it. Especially not you.” 

She turned her head so she was staring right at him. “Why not me?” Y/N’s speech came out as a whisper. They were so close that she didn’t need to speak loudly. 

“Because if I really was your highness, it would be kind of weird for me to do this.”

Edmund placed a hand on Y/N’s jaw and leaned in. His lips barely brushed her lips before pressing firmly against them. Y/N’s eyes closed shut and she happily kissed back. 

When people described kissing their soulmate for the first time, they always explain it as an electric spark igniting throughout their entire body. They explain it as a firework show full of magnificent colors. Kissing Edmund didn’t feel like that. Kissing Edmund felt like home. She felt safe, secure, and loved as if kissing this boy was what she was meant to do for her entire life. The way he tasted, like peppermint and candy, was the best thing she had ever tasted. And they way he held her, one hand on her jaw and the other holding her close to him by her waist, felt like the warmth of a favorite blanket. The way he moved made her knees feel like jelly. 

As their lip lock continued, his fingertips danced across her back until it landed on the other side of her jaw. He pulled away from their kiss, pressing a quick peck against her nose and jaw before leaning against his headboard. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for my entire life,” Y/N said, her voice gentle and soft. 

“Me too. The thought of kissing you, Y/N L/N, was the only thing that got me through some tough times. I had to make it to be able to feel what it was like.”

Y/N was silent for a long moment. 

“Edmund, love, do you think I will ever go to Narnia?”

Edmund looked at her for a long moment then smiled with half of his mouth. 

“I don’t know, darling, but anything is possible. Especially when it comes to Narnia.” 

[hopetofantasy]

Wandering Romance

- A future with child fic -

Square Filled: Future, Family, Past lovers Ship: Sander Driesen/Robbe Ijzermans   Trigger Warnings (if applicable): none applied.   Created for @skamevents Summary: “A perfect, tight little family. But happy. Until one unfortunate day in May, in the year that David turned six.”  

In the future, Robbe and Sander have a son named David. The only tie they have left with each other, actually. Because our lovers split up years ago, due to mistakes that were made in the past.  

So is their love strong enough to sustain a healthy friendship? Will they find their way to each other again or break all connections for good?

Also available on AO3

—————————————————————

CHAPTER 2: 'No one sees what I see in you’

—————————————————————

“So this is it then?”

A beautiful boy with mesmerizing eyes lying in arms. The warmth of love. It felt like puzzle pieces finally fitting together, after months of frustration and searching for anything that might look like it. Something that had been missing for quite some time. It just didn’t add up? Long sighs, hurtful eyes, loaded silences that made them more sad than happy. Their love wasn’t strong enough to deal with this...

No, he didn’t believe that.

They were strong enough.

Just not now...

He was caressing the cheek of his lover, his best friend, his partner in crime. Another part of the pair, the amazing family they had. Fathers. Their boy. All tossed away, like it was nothing. A paper crumbled in the trash. Like they never even were. And because of what? Why? Why now? Why this? This wasn’t right. They both knew it wasn’t.

He sighed to stop the spiraling.

His hands started to clench into a fist. He was so angry at first, he was so angry and sad at the world. He was promised forever, they both promised each other that their love would survive anything. The perfect man in a beautiful white suit and him wearing the black one. Ying and yang. Always complimenting each other, begging for a deeper connection, receiving it and now cutting it away.

Like his heart.

“Is this it? Can’t we keep trying? Please?”

His eyes were staring inside those deep ones. His tanned skinned hand slightly caressing his lover’s arm. Mindlessly. They were used to pillow talk until the early morning, the sunrise. The night sky turning from dark blue to light orange hues, exactly the color he once made by accident, trying out the paint samples on his palette. A beautiful coincidence. Just like the night they met.

As if faith knew.

When the other boy didn’t answer, he just went for it. His lips trying to convey everything he felt inside the troubled mind, his hands feeling every hitched breath taken away from his other half, the softness of a wanted caress, but also the sting from nails digging in his back, the bite of pleasure, the strained movement of legs  - as if love couldn’t be felt without some pain. It suited them, he thought. Every day could be a high. Every day could be a low.

His fingers gripped the sheets of their shared bed. Sharing it for the last time.  

“Oh my god, schat”, exclaimed the one.

“I love you”, answered the other.

“I love you too”, was moaned.

“Don’t leave me, please”, was said.

A tear rolling off a heated cheek.

Kissed by soft eyelashes.

The silence that followed wasn’t wounding. It was passion, it was love, it was a high that never experienced a low. A white light behind the eyes. Stars for their lights. Something shared only between them. And never would be again.

“Let us go... please”

The whisper.

And that’s when Sander woke up from his dream.

When he started to cry.

-^-

“Papa, can I ask you something?”

“Yes, darling, always. What is it?”

“How did you and paps meet?”

Oof, that was such a loaded question for a Monday morning. And he didn’t even have his first coffee yet. His eyes instantly analyzed David’s face, which was just a pure reflection of playfulness and wonder. The tiny boy seemed to concoct something on his breakfast croissant. It looked like choco spread, decorated with speculaas cookies.

What is this? Where the hell did he get that idea? This can’t be healthy right?

“Sweetie, did you eat a hearty sandwich before shoving this in your mouth? You can’t live on sweets, you know that. You won’t grow to be a big boy, then!”

“But, papa, I like it. Can I have this, like... one time?”

Oh no, not the puppy eyes.

He was a real manipulator with those big brown orbs. The kid was 9 years old, for God’s sake, how could he be this smart? He knew exactly how to play the game to convince them of mischievous things, things that were bad for him and stuff they needed to say ‘no’ to. But it was sooo rewarding to just say ‘yes’. Just to see the beautiful grin creep up onto the face he loved so much.

Something Sander wanted to collect in a jar and pull out whenever he had his ‘cloudy days’. David didn’t understand the concept of bipolarity yet, so once he was old enough to notice something, they had sat him down to explain. “David, sweetie. You know how papa is sometimes a bit different?”, Robbe tried to approach the subject, while their son stared with unsung tears in his eyes.

“Yeah, he lies on the bed and sleeps and don’t eat and is very, very sad. I don’t understand. Does papa hate me? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry...”

If the room was a stethoscope, the family would’ve heard a heart breaking. It was one thing that Robbe had to deal with his mania and depression. Now another innocent soul was being corrupted by his stupid brain and Sander just couldn’t deal with that. The pain he might induce, the worry in his soul almost growing too much. But as always, his other half seemed to know what to do. While holding his hand, to anchor him back to this world, Robbe explained.

“No, darling. Papa will always love you. Even if you did bad things. But now you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? You see, people have a bright sun inside them. And sometimes that happy, beautiful sun will have clouds blocking their light. Clouds who bring in bad weather, like being tired, not being hungry, not wanting to talk, have sad thoughts, just wanting to sleep all the time. And that’s okay. Because after a few days of rain, comes the sunshine, right?”

“And sometimes a rainbow!”, their beautiful boy exclaimed.

A couple of teeth missing in the front, but his smile was beaming nonetheless. It melted their hearts. “Yes,” Sander whispered softly. If he wasn’t sure about how much he loved his curly angels before, he knew now. When did he become so lucky to have such beautiful love? Him and his loving partner hugging their soft boy, giggling all together, without a care in the world. A fulfilling life.

Perfection.

“Papa, are you there?”

Sander blinked back some tears, while trying to focus on the situation at hand. David was glaring at him, already halfway through the disgustingly sweet croissant in his hands. Some crumbs were falling down the plate. And the choco paste tainting his pink cheeks. The look in his face was peculiar, like he tried to figure out what his dad was thinking. If he was going ‘cloudy’.

“David... I do remember that I never told you ‘yes’, right?”

The answer was a simple shrug.

“You didn’t answer my question about paps, either. C’est la vie.”

To say that Sander was perplexed, is an serious understatement.

-^-

When Sander was thirteen, he knew.

He wasn’t normal.

This was way before he was diagnosed with bipolarity, but that wasn’t the only thing not fitting the ‘standard normal’. He knew the boys in his class and he simply didn’t like them. They were all talking about video games, Call Of Duty: Black Ops, while eating their weight in greasy snacks and referring to girls like pieces of meat. Making jokes about what they learned from their older siblings or watching too much nighttime television.

And he didn’t.

He liked to write, he wanted to be a writer someday. And paint. Drawing was amazing. Sander loved walking around with cut jeans, graphic band t-shirts and a bleached buzzcut. One day, he’d love to have a pierced eyebrow. That was considered cool in his book. Maybe his career would be ‘rock-and-roll’ artist, since he played the drums too. Something to get his energy out.

Because he had ADHD.

At least, that’s what his doctor said. He just wanted different things than others and sometimes all at once. Was that weird? Apparently so. But he wasn’t entirely convinced about having the disorder. It sounded ill-fitting. Like a shrunken skinny jeans in the dryer, the broken mug in his room where he put his discarded pencils. It didn’t make sense.

Because he was who he was.

He liked who he was.

But who was he exactly?

He knew the day he changed schools. His mom somehow knew, the way only mothers do, that the previous school wasn’t the right fit for him. His course orientation was ‘sciences’ and he almost failed everyone of his classes. Sander was struggling to keep afloat. Almost drowning at the formulas and facts and figures. Those were more abstract to him than art. Art made sense, somehow?

And that’s why his mom send him to an art school.

There he saw people with asymmetric hair, nose rings and cut t-shirts. Girls with alluring auras, rainbow shoes and paint covered arms. Boys with mesmerizing eyes, fresh make-up and decorated backpacks. Beautiful souls who talked about art like breathing. Who understood things like writer’s block, portrait frustration and tunnel vision.

And he fell in love with them, all of them.

His people.

It took him a few years to understand what else made him special. Because he did fall in love with people’s souls, their auras, instead of a specific gender. It was a highlight in his life when he figured that one out. He finally knew another piece of the puzzle. Life was complicated, but knowing something more about yourself, made it so much easier.

His first crush was on a dark skinned boy from his drawing class. He didn’t reciprocate feelings, but liked Sander as a friend. Ekon appreciated the way Sander caught him in his art pieces. Complimented him on how he perfectly attained his off-beat smile, when someone made a joke at his expense. He was a quiet boy. But a boy, nonetheless.

And then there was Saartje. An unconventional girl, even for an art school. She seemed to walk around like an ice queen surrounded by raging fires. Hated every thing he suggested to lift her sculptures to a new level, always answering his comments with a cold stare. Such a soft girly name for such a raging bitch.

And Sander couldn’t help but fall.

Hard.

Without parachute.

But she used that to her advantage.

His love was treated as an exchange. If Sander would shut up about his newest passion called David Bowie, she’d give him a kiss. When he asked her on a date, she would think about it. Maybe if Sander could persuade the teacher to give her a better grade? And if he paid? Being the hormonal teenager he was, he obliged. And he believed. He was tricked into uncertain love.

Something he carried with him.

Especially after his eventual diagnosis. He dated Britt. He thought he deserved this kind of love. The uncertainty, the doubt, the hardships. It was all his brain’s fault, for being the way he was. Love? Love was something to be earned, not to be given. And nobody would give that up so easily for someone as broken as him.

Until that one boy,

in the moonlight.

He never saw true beauty ‘til this night.

And his heart,

did love as true again.

-^-

“Do you want any help with that?”

“Papa, I know how to make myself look like Bowie, you know.”

Sander snorted. He was truly a son of his, wasn’t he? This tiny boy was sitting on a high chair, right in front of a mirror, attempting to put on the make-up in a dramatic way. The tip of his tongue spilling out his lips, trying very hard to focus. He couldn’t stop staring at this sight, which filled him with pride. He must have taught him well.

The next generation was secured.

“Dad, stop staring at me and go find my other dad.”, David said sternly.

Ok, but who was the parent in this relationship exactly? Sometimes Sander didn't know. Yet, catching the eye of the supervisor right behind him, he was sure that everything was going to be a-okay. Maybe he did needed to find Robbe and the boys. It’ll do him some good. It had been ages since they had some real interaction that wasn’t through a phone.

It wasn’t difficult to spot them through the crowd of curious adults. The exaggerated screaming at each other was enough. Robbe had been pulled into the biggest hug by Milan, flanked by a jumping Moyo, giggling Aaron and a serious Jens. It sounded like the weirdest end of the world. But the feeling that coursed through his heart wasn’t unusual.

Pride.

For what they all achieved.

How they all stayed together.

Through hell and back.

Moyo had, somehow, become a successful club owner of a couple of nightlife establishments all around the city. From an only-known-by-initiates speakeasy to a high paid, high-end sky club, he knew what he wanted to do with his life and brought it to the table. Jens, on the other hand, went on a totally different route. After failing to start a few start-ups, he became g a video editing/sound mix freelancer and stay-at-home dad to help his lawyer-wife.

Aaron was still on the grind as a social worker, working until late at night to fight for the hardest cases. “These people deserve a happy ending”, he’d always say. And Sander couldn’t agree more.

Last but not least, Milan. The interior designer with an ecological mind. He had helped them out with the decoration of their home, which was totally picture perfect. And still cheap as f.

After the whole ordeal of greeting, Robbe seemed to have a huge smile plastered on his face. That was good, Sander though. Lately he looked so lost, certainly in Sander’s neighborhood. And he didn’t know why. As far as he knew, he didn’t say or do anything wrong. On the contrary. He’d encouraged Robbe to bring Wouter along, saying it was totally okay to find love again.

Where was that bastard, anyways?

“Heeeeeey, Jack Frost!”, the entire group turned towards him and engulfed him into an instant hug. Causing a lot of high pitched giggling, ‘omg, your hand is on my butt’-s and eye rolls. The warmth next to him was familiar, though. As was the scent. Which made his heart drum a little harder, like it wasn’t stating the obvious already. Pulling away, the electrified gaze lingered.

“How are you?”, the one asked.

“I’m good.”, the other answered.

He wanted to know more. Sander always wanted to know more. His heart never stopped beating for this boy, so everything he would say, would be engraved in his soul. His broken mind. His eternal love. That would never change. Even through the pain, he knew that they belonged together. That it was neither fault. Life just happened.

Like always.

But before he could ask anything else, a woman approached the brown haired man. Some colorful glasses, a beautiful classic dress and an intrigued smile on her face. Robbe immediately greeted her as ‘Mrs. Raymaeckers’. “I saw David backstage. Are you ready to see the performance, Mr. Ijzermans?”, she politely asked. Robbe slowly nodded his head with a careful smile.

“Ofcourse, David is going to be amazing, he was bouncing off the walls about this. I’m interested in what he’s going to play...”

“Ah yes. The David Bowie thing. He’s truly special, isn’t he? Unique in some ways.”, she giggled, while wrapping her hand around his arm. Causing a lot of heads unsubtly turning towards the gesture.

“I love how he has such a playful spirit. Does he have that from his father or his mother?”. She blinked rapidly. Auburn hair tossed over her shoulder. A beaming smile.

Wait...

Was she...

Trying to flirt with him?

A potential married man?

Sander saw how the other boys desperately held in their laughs. Some of them failed. Robbe’s cheeks reddened slightly, like he didn’t know how to answer this delicate question.

She just assumed he was straight?

That was such heteronormativity.

It irked the beach blonde man, that people could still think this way, like a child couldn’t have two fathers or mothers?

“He has that from me, actually.”

Six pairs of eyes bore into his. Most of them applauding the ballsy move on his part, one of them grateful for this way out. The last one, however, went through a whole process.

Confusion, calculation, realization and shame.

“Oh... I’m sorry.”, Mrs. Raymaeckers sheepishly stated. "I didn’t know. I just assumed... Ahem. Well, I’m gonna check the rest. Bye, Mr Ijzermans. Bye, Mr-”

“Driesen.”, he answered coldly.

“Bye, Mr. Driesen.” And with that, she was gone. As fast as the wind.

He didn’t like it.

He just didn’t.

How people could still think the way they did, how they would just come up to potential married men and flirt with them? How was that okay?

He knew he was clenching his fist, because of the pain. Fingernails making tiny half moons. It stung. Jealousy and anger tasting like poison in his mouth. His stare trying to find a fixated spot to calm his breathing.

He found it in some deep brown eyes.

A cautious smile coming towards him. He knew. Robbe always knew what Sander needed, even when he didn’t know himself. He was intuitive that way. His beautiful man, such a perfect human. The father of his child. And he couldn’t help, but sigh. Breathing slowly, heart thumping. A small caress around his fist, trying to soften the harsh ache. Only making the ache in his heart greater.

“Robbe”, he whispered silently.

“Yeah, Sander?”

He didn’t say anything more. He couldn’t. Robbe needed to live his own life, making his own mistakes, battle his own prejudices. Feeling his own real love. So Sander just stood there. Looking at the face he adored the most and he started to notice something. It almost looked like Robbe was anticipating this, was waiting for some kind of answer, some kind of truth.

And that's when they heard it.

A David Bowie lookalike coming onto the stage.

Childlike coughing in the microphone.

The first notes of a guitar riff.

The scratchy start of ‘doodoodoo''.

The song.

David Bowie.

The sign.

“You've got your mother in a whirl She's not sure if you're a boy or a girl Hey babe, your hair's alright Hey babe, let's go out tonight You like me, and I like it all We like dancing and we look divine You love bands when they're playing hard You want more and you want it fast They put you down, they say I'm wrong You tacky thing, you put them on.

Rebel rebel, you've torn your dress Rebel rebel, your face is a mess Rebel rebel, how could they know? Hot tramp, I love you so!”

[gevejsbvdj]

Fine. Pt 1

Okay. I did NOT want to do this. I don’t want it to look like I’m trying to start something. When I made the announcement post, I thought that would be it. But a lot of you got really angry and reeeeally bitter about it, suspiciously enough. I am actually hoping that after I post this, I get an explanation and an apology. I tried to explain to these people time and time again about how I was hurt by this situation but they refused to listen. So here I am, spelling it the fuck out. Also, this account is dead anyways and i am so tired of keeping this to myself. I can’t do it anymore. 

That’s enough preamble for now, I’ll make more notes at the end. Let’s get onto the “situation” that was the final straw for me and inspired my complete leave. 

For comprehension purposes, this took place in the Crackerbox Palace discord server. 

For a warning, I’m pretty theatrical when stressed. If I joke here I’m sorry. I’m going to hold back on the humor. 

CW: mentions of sexual abuse, pedophilia, racism, and seizures. You have been warned.

It sounds disgustingly simple, but when I joke about this (to myself, because it’s better than crying about it), I say that me having a seizure was the cause of this all. It isn’t really, but- let me explain. 

I was alone, and I was chatting with the people in the server when suddenly- I just felt fucking weird. Initially, I was like “oh what the hell” until I realized that the weird sensation was actually familiar. It’s what people who have seizures call an “aura” or a “ting”, and it’s a numbing, buzzing sensation that’s kind of like an alarm bell that lets your body know what’s about to go down. And I have a habit (you can decide whether it’s good or bad) where I feel like I have to tell anyone around me that I’m going to have a seizure as SOON as I recognize the aura. Well like I said, I was alone. There was no one physically around me that I could tell, but I already had the chat open, fingers on my keyboard, I typed: I think I’m gonna have a seizure. Something like that. And I did. Don’t worry, I’m fine now. The older I get, the less extreme my seizures are for the most part. I got a splitting headache for the next two days, but we’re getting it checked out! This is only context for what happened next. 

After that happened I eventually came to and as soon as my senses were recollected and my memory came back, I felt so embarrassed that I told my friends who I thought were super cool that I had a SEIZURE. But I noticed that Ley and Emma (in their genuine concern) were discussing seizures and how dangerous they could be, and was wondering if I was okay. I was honestly so relieved they weren’t laughing or anything like that. Vulture then responded saying “hey can you censor the word seizure, it’s a trigger.”, and so Ley and Emma did so. I was confused by this because I thought Vulture was saying it’s MY (me, a person who has them regularly) trigger, or that they were saying it was a trigger in general? I soon found out that it was a term on our “blacklist”, which makes sense.

So In our server, we had a channel (the prior mentioned blacklist channel) where people can suggest words and phrases to avoid. Phrases/topics that make you very uncomfortable, triggering, etc. Someone suggested that the name “Zack” be blacklisted because it’s the name of someone that manipulated them. And no, not Zach like me Zach, but Z-A-C-K, you know? Anyways, sometimes the sheltered southerner in me jumps out, and someone asking for that name to be blacklisted rocked my world! Even more so that the admins I worked with were willing to blacklist it. I thought, wait all this time I could have asked you all to blacklist a NAME that upsets me? I didn’t know I could do that. Never have I ever been in an environment where something like a name could be avoided to ensure my comfort. While THAT was what I was thinking, when I went to type it in the chat, it did not come off that way to vulture. Here’s what I said:

Vulture took what I said wrong, which is totally fair. Words fail me as they do everyone else, and looking back, I could have done better in explaining what I felt. I’m not blaming them for the misunderstanding, and I'm not even blaming me that much. It happens, man. But what got to me, was them accusing me of belittling or more so INVALIDATING the trigger. Me, someone actually has seizures, invalidating someone being triggered by them. Okay. Here was my response:

My response was unnecessarily snarky and I am still sorry for that. I thought I got better at thinking before speaking but it’s evident that it’s still something I need to work on. However, like I said I’ve never been one to accept it when someone’s trying to have an attitude with me. And no I’ll be the first to say that Vulture wasn’t explicitly rude to me, but I was gobsmacked that someone was trying to tell me how traumatic seizures are and accused me of invalidating them after I just said that I have them frequently. And that even after I explained what I meant, I was still met with an accusing response. Can you imagine if I went up to a homeless man and said “you have no right to invalidate my trauma with homelessness. I read matchbox girl.” Like okay? Also, yes that mod chat had a history with taking everything I said as aggressive or belligerent, hence my telling them to stop that. I was always met with a dismissive and antagonistic response. Remember that. I will get back to that. 

Because of Vulture’s immature response, I removed them as chat admin. Do I regret it? Halfway, yes. I should have pulled them to the side and spoke with them about what they did. But looking back on that, after seeing the things they’ve posted today? It’s probably for the best that they weren’t a part of the admin team. 

Andy (also known as shadowylemon here) and Cody are partners who also helped me run the server. They were admins,obviously. Andy asked me why I removed Vulture as Admin. I explained to him why, very civilly with the help of one of my friends because my response almost WASN'T. And to be frank, I ignored most of what he said because again I was being made to be the evil villain and I wasn’t being heard. So I ignored him. Also I was on a call so I wasn’t going to break my brain listening to ten people at once. I was so tired, my seizure happened like only a couple days prior and my head was still affected. 

I mulled over that whole ordeal for a bit until me and my friend (the same friend I mentioned earlier, who helped me with my response to Andy. Lenny. He also helped me mod there and was the original co-founder of the server) came to the conclusion that the mods were too young. We need an age limit. So I told them, like “hey you guys are fine for now but I think that in the future, we should start having the mods be older”.

 At this point I’m super careful with the way I word things. I’m always like that to be honest, as a black (visual-wise, a female) female you learn real quick that you’re the angry one in every situation unless you learn to talk super duper civil. But I didnt think I had to be that way in THAT server, you know? I thought I was safe there. Apparently not. Anyway-

I was met with, again, an aggravated “how dare you” type response from Cody. Which was okay with me, still is. When you work with someone in a group, you’re not going to agree with them all the time. So we were having a pretty civil, short lived back and forth until I mentioned that we tone it down on blacklisting every word. I suggested earlier to blacklist the word “blue” to see how far they would take it and they literally blacklisted it. I didn’t get to say this then, but I’m actually against over censoring, even if it’s supposedly for someone’s mental health. I have ADHD, RSD, on the damn spectrum, all that good stuff, so don’t come for me. But if you’re wanting to avoid words like blue, or a very common name, that is not my responsibility. That is your therapist. The server had people in there who- well English wasn’t their first language, and adding more barriers to their language is, I feel, very inconsiderate.

 Cody started to threaten to delete the blacklisting channel all together and was acting really panicky. AGAIN (if I can find the screenshots, I will share) I was met with a very victimizing, whiny response. Like come on now. I told them to please do not make me the aggressor or I will leave.

No response. 

So the rest of us were just getting ready to start a call and play some games until we noticed something. 

Channels, titles and colors, and nearly everything was being deleted. 

By who? Andy and Cody. This is just one screenshot. I wouldn’t include what’s over ten i have saved on my phone.

I was afraid that they got hacked and was being made to delete them. Until I thought “wait...it’s funny how they’re the only mods that are being ‘hacked’ while the rest of us were left alone. RIGHT after I just had a disagreement with them. Oh my god is this a tantrum.” The server then echoed my concerns. Please don’t be a tantrum. We noticed they left and so I dmed Andy. I said “Why” and he blocked me. That confirmed that it was indeed a tantrum. A tantrum because I IMPLIED that they were being micro aggressive towards me. Alright. 

Me and the server joined a sort of conference call where we discussed what happened and they asked me questions as well as talked about what our next move was. At the time, I thought I was being dramatic because my breathing was super labored, and my face was super hot, and my heart was pounding. I was furious. There was a tiny voice telling me that ‘hey, you’re mad because after you told them that you were uncomfortable and upset with them treating you like an unhinged angry person, they did all this shit’ but I ignored it. 

That is a common theme with me. I know a lot of you think I’m using my race as a weapon and that I call everything racist, but I HATE calling things racial discrimination for that exact reason. I don’t wanna look sensitive, or get called a snowflake. I honestly used to be a self-loathing black person, and you could hurl slurs at my face and I’ll excuse it. My friend group in the 9th grade was mainly racist white people. I’m so glad I grew out of that nonsense but damn some of that toxic mentality stuck with me to the point I never wanted to acknowledge when someone was biased against me. 

I mean, how could it be any more clear? Do I think that Andy and Cody are racist? Of. Course. Not. I think that’s why a lot of you got so mad at me when you realized that what you did was microaggressions rooted in racial bias. Because you thought I was calling you a RACIST.  I’ve had white people who will march with me during protests say and some really off-putting shit the next day. You can be an ally and make mistakes. You’re not perfect. I’m not perfect. None of us is. You have to allow yourself to make errors, and be confronted. Running away cursing and kicking rocks just tells me that you don’t want to listen to black people. 

But anyway, we attempted to move on from the childish ordeal and I enlisted the help of new people to help me mod since we were short two, and could have used the help anyway. 

We were doing alright, really. One day, though, Joane messaged me saying that Vulture wanted to apologize and wanted to talk. And I was like great now's the perfect time to talk to them like I should have the first time, but wrongly didn’t. So I told Joane to dm me. 

Well, Joane sent me a screenshot of some of hers and Vultures conversation.

As you can see I initially did feel willing to apologize and speak to vulture. Because like I said earlier, my snarky response was UNNECESSARY. However, Joane joining in the discussion with her “I can’t understand him which frustrates me lmao” peeved me. As did Vulture acting like I’m unhinged. While I didn’t need to make the “imma blacklist lmao and lol since it bothers you so much” comment at ALL, it wasn’t that deep….at all. Vulture has a habit of virtue signalling too. Their comment “I’m patient and forgiving” is an example. 

While I was annoyed initially, I soon felt pretty hurt that Joane would say that about me behind my back? It made me wonder if there was more she didn’t show me. Joane was a really good friend and I loved her a lot so I was extra sensitive about it. I’ve never spoken ill about her behind her back. 

Now, this is a recurring theme in this post but let me say now: I am aware that no one is OBLIGATED to treat me a certain way because I was nice to them. Of course not. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt? Talking negatively about someone isn’t a problem, but having them think you’re their friend while doing so is. You know? It’s very deceiving, but in Joane’s case, only slightly deceiving. 

So I just didn’t speak to her for a bit. I was already annoyed at having to re-build my server because of a couple of teenagers having a tantrum, as well as things that were happening in my personal life. Also, the news was no damn help at all, you all know. But I didn’t speak to her for the rest of the day and I...I hated it haha. I don’t like avoiding people when I’m frustrated, and after I saw what happened with Vulture when I did the same thing, I should know better. Plus I felt bad. Joane was still a friend, and I wanted to get to the bottom of things. 

I’m not going to include every little screenshot and whatnot, but I messaged her like hey what’s up let’s finish our discussion. Because I thought that at that point, I had my head screwed on a bit better. 

During our discussion, I eventually showed Joane me and vultures conversation, and she acted astonished that Vulture didn’t show her all the context, and even said that they were being irrational. This was after I told her that after everything Andy and Cody did, they made a server with Vulture to which she informed me that she was aware, and she was invited. Honestly, at the time I didn’t think vulture was being irrational. While I said it’s no excuse, PTSD can make us say and do pretty wild things, and calling someone like that irrational feel like ableist language. 

So me and Joane had a little moment. I apologized to her, and she apologized to me.

I was sure that after we both had our respective breaks, that we would be good to continue our friendship like normal. Just a bump in the road. It happens

That was until I got a certain anon from Vulture. 

She asked me why we were done, but when I went to ask her “what in the world did you say to them” she blocked me.

Sorry I keep showing me messaging them, I just don’t wanna get lied to or something again. 

I was really sad about that. I went to bed, and when I woke up, I was still sad. Joane was telling me one thing, and Vulture another thing. She was changing her opinion on a person depending on who she was talking to. It was dizzying and disingenuous and I didn’t even get to talk it out with her because she blocked me. Which was really suspicious. She told me that she would be taking a break from the server and that she still respected me as a friend, but went to vulture and told them that I treated her like SHIT, or at least acted enough like a victim to make them accuse me of that. I’m sorry, but where in the world did I do that? If me confessing to someone that they hurt me is the same thing as treating them like shit, then fuck man a lot of us are assholes. 

Wow, look at me treat her like shit. Absolute garbage right?

I wasn’t even being completely honest to Joane about my feelings for that reason. Because of accusations like this. Another instance of someone taking literally me being normal and civil as being AGGRESSIVE. Vulture, I’m sorry for accusing you of utilizing white girl tears. I accused the wrong person. But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. 

I went to our #vent channel on the server and told whoever was online and whoever was listening about the whole ordeal, and how HURT I felt because I was literally played by this girl. And I was accused of basically being abusive. Treated her like shit? Cmon man…

But another user in the server, as it turns out, had a similar experience with Joane, and provide in-depth screenshots. Which made me even madder, so we kept venting about the situation. 

Also, because of a couple of dms, and because the more I ranted, the more pained I got, I felt compelled to say the following, NOW LISTEN CLOSELY:

I first prefaced my concerns by saying “I AM BY NO MEANS CALLING JOANE A GROOMER”. That was fucking useless of me to say because- okay I’m getting ahead of myself. 

So I was saying (and in hindsight, I shouldn’t have. I know. But like I said, it was in the heat of the moment and I got a dm that made me feel bad) that it was strange how as soon as someone young and innocent was present, Joane would cling to them in an obsessive way. I’m not the only one who noticed that, and even one of the younger users in question agreed to my statement. 

Listen fucking closely. I don’t think Joane is a sexual predator at ALL. That’s why I had that warning before I said anything in the chat. I do, though, think that if you’re a grown adult and you’re obsessed with being friends with people who are as young as 14, that it’s concerning, not in a sexual way, but in a power dynamic way. I’m only 19 and I honestly don’t get older people who become besties with much younger people. I was “friends” with the users as well, but I was a mentor/brother/dad more than anything. Do you understand? When I was 15, I’ve had people who were 20 and older become my friend and dump their adult problems onto me, as well as expect adult reactions and responses out of me. It was stressful and damaging and I did not want that happening to anyone else, especially the younger people in the chat. Okay? Okay. 

That being said, my protectiveness is a major flaw of mine. Oh my god, do I take it too far sometimes, man. I didn’t want really young teenagers (13-16) to have a serious relationship with an adult because of what happened to me, and I didn’t want Joane to play and hurt anyone else the way she did me and my other friend. So I went into the announcements channel and told the users to read what we’ve been saying in regard to Joane and come up with your own decision. I did not have to do that, I can sit here and say that the things that transpired the past few days really took a toll on me whatever blah blah blah. But I could have kept it in vent, really. And the dumb thing is, that before I sent that message in announcements, I was literally telling myself that THIS is a bad idea. GOD, Zach. But I was at work, it was the last day before holidays started, and I was feeling super protective and I wasn’t thinking and- well yeah. 

During all of this, I was having a conversation with vulture in Tumblr dms. I gathered the courage to finally dm them after receiving the anon. That conversation was on my old Tumblr, so I don’t have a screenshot of the key points, but I typed my starting message in notes, and this is what I said:

“Hi vulture. I don’t want to be here for long but I just wanna ask: why? You accused me of invalidating a trigger and even after I told you that’s not what I meant you still went off on me? You’re mad at me about an inaccurate perception and it really upset me. I’ve been terrified of talking to you specifically because I’ve been dealing with micro aggressions from you, Andy, and Cody and it’s really been wearing me down. And when I told Andy and Cody about their treatment of me, they deleted shit from my server and leave? How do you think that makes me feel as a black person? Makes me never want to talk about my feelings ever again out of the fear of being antagonized. I’m sorry I was snarky towards you, if you didn’t like my remark about “lmao” and “lol”. I agree it was immature. But don’t forget you came at me first. If you’re willing to further discuss this with me then great, which I am sure you are seeing that you asked me to on anon. I finally gathered the courage to contact you so let’s do this.”

We had a brief conversation. Vulture dismissing my microaggressions concerns but really- it happens so much that at that point I was so numb to it. Also a little bit “it’s not about your race. Remember when I…” more virtue signalling. Bleh. But after all, I did thank them for actually wanting to talk to me. Andy didn’t wanna do it. Cody didn’t wanna do it. Joane didn’t want to. Vulture did. And I appreciate that to this day, after everything. I can always admire that about someone. 

It ended prematurely because of me. I was at work and got distracted by that as well as by what happened in the server next. 

Emma sent a pretty long message basically calling all of us out for “bullying Joane” and talking ill of her behind her back, as well as announcing that she would be leaving the server and that we should all be ashamed of ourselves. This was right after someone confessed that Joane made him feel uncomfortable with constant flirting. I admitted that I should not have put the message In announcements, but guys.

I went off. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I was sick of trying to be docile and sweet. I didn’t care if I would be portrayed as the angry black again I DID NOT CARE. Bullying Joane? Me talking about how she hurt me is bullying? Let’s look up what that means. 

Yeah okay. That’s incorrect usage, right? I didn’t even call Joane names. I didn’t persistently harass her. I spoke about what she did to me in distaste, but I was done with her as a friend at that point, and she knew that, so was not going behind her back. I wasn’t being predatory towards her. And I definitely wasn’t being AGGRESSIVE or BLUSTERING. Emma was using broad pronouns and terms (you guys, you all, etc) but I knew she was talking about me, as I was the most prominent in my venting about Joane due to my situation with her happening just yesterday. I sent the most messages, I- while wrong in doing so- posted the announcements. That message primarily was directed towards me. When I say that microaggressions tear you down, it tears you THE FUCK down. 

That being said, I did cuss Emma out (she wasn’t present when I went off, but still) and cussed out everyone who agreed with her. I was so blinded by rage and hurt I don’t even remember at all what I said. One line that sticks out to me though is “y’all saw a white girl crying and thought oh man we can’t have that” and that’s a mantra I’ve repeated a couple of times when I find myself in scenarios such as this one. 

But- I do regret going off like that. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t justified slightly, though. I don’t expect any of you to understand completely what I went through, but please try. I regret going off like that, though. And I’m sorry. 

I guess I was also upset because I was JUST in a good mood? I was literally singing to myself all happy and shit, but Emma’s inconsiderate message threw me off. It’s making me even more upset now that I know why she said that. She wasn’t the only person to tell me I should be ashamed of myself for manipulating (yes, MANIPULATING) Joane. 

I dmed Emma in an attempt to fix things, but i gave up quickly. I was too raw with emotions anyways. So I mournfully told her that we probably should’t be friends anymore, to which she responded

Carelessly?...ouch.

From the moment Joane dmed me about Vulture, and the moment Emma sent that message, all of that transpired within three days. Three fucking days and THAT much happened. It was taking a toll on me, that’s not even counting Andy and Cody’s tantrum. 

I was in a dark place, still am. I made a post saying that I was going to take a break from Tumblr and then made one saying that I was going to kill myself in the tags. Not exclusively because of all this, of course. So. Much. Bullshit. Happens to me on a daily basis. Abusive parents. Sexual assault. Racism that’s actually violent. Dying relatives. So much. I’m crying as I type this it’s just so much. In real life, I have no friends. Not even fake acquaintances. Yes, I cut off all those people because they were extremely toxic, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have literally no one. That server was my escape. Parents fighting? Open discord. Mental spiral? Discord is there. Just had a seizure? Don’t worry, you have friends. And now I don’t. And all because of some dumb shit that wouldn’t probably have happened if two kids didn’t get mad at ME because THEY were ignorant. I know it’s not good to rely on a server to improve your mental health, but I couldn’t help it. I was desperate. And I really did think so highly of everyone in that chat. I loved them.

I received a couple asks that night saying that I don’t have to hurt myself, I’m loved, all that. Very kind messages. And right when I was going to delete the post (I was so embarrassed for posting it), I got a message from ley that read something like “I don’t agree with what you said at ALL but that doesn’t mean I want you to kill yourself or leave” something along those lines. I thought, really? You couldn’t just say you didn’t want me to leave and have it at that? 

I really don’t want to make it seem like I posted something so graphic for attention, man. I can’t stand that manipulation tactic and I don’t want that harmful stigma about suicidal people to be encouraged. 

But Ley’s message threw me off. Agree with what I...huh? Then it pissed me off

So I deleted my account. And fell off the face of the earth for 15 days. 

[hamadynes]

Oblivious

(Or 7 Things the Phantom Thieves Learn to Appreciate About Ryuji and 1 Thing They Don’t)

AO3 Link

1. Honesty. Because in Akechi's world of polite pleasantries, deception, and betrayal, Ryuji's blunt form of honesty is refreshing in the moronic way it exposes his proverbial jugular.

(Hey guys, guess who’s posting a fic for the first time in years, based mostly on SPITE and my desperate desire to give Ryuji the content he deserves?)

“I don’t like this, and I definitely don’t like you,” is the first thing Ryuji says to him as Akechi makes his way around the last turn up the LeBlanc staircase and enters the attic space Akira calls home.

The blond is slouched in a chair at the table near the beat up old couch and is glaring at him openly. Akira shoots him an apologetic look from his own place beside his friend, elbowing the boy softly when Ryuji opens his mouth to continue. Ryuji practically pouts at the silent reprimand but crosses his arms and says nothing else.

“Ignore him. It’s easier that way,” Morgana says, leaping from the floor to Akira’s lap to the table top in one fluid movement, tail lashing out behind him and blue eyes smug.

Ryuji redirects his glare at the feline and sticks out his tongue but otherwise makes no move to retaliate.

In truth, Akechi finds Ryuji’s petulance ridiculous in its childishness, but instead of rolling his eyes as he wants to, he smiles, working just enough ruefulness into his eyes to be believable. “No, no,” he sighs, even and polite. “I, too, regret that I couldn’t have sought out your help under more… pleasant circumstances.”

Akira nods in understanding, but Ryuji scoffs. Loudly. “Yeah, sure, you little—”

“Ryuji.” Akira’s voice somehow holds both warmth and warning and the blond cuts off immediately, letting the rest of his statement taper into an irritated sigh through clenched teeth.

The two share a long look, but Ryuji eventually turns away and reaches back to scrub agitatedly at the back of his neck. “Yeah, fine, whatever,” he says to no one in particular, then without looking, “Sorry,” at Akechi, whose smile tightens imperceptibly.

The flush that sweeps from neck to his ears, the hard set of his jaw, the deep furrow in his brows, the defensive cross of his arms; even without his previous statements, Ryuji couldn’t be less obvious if he had disgust scrawled across his forehead in bold red letters. Akechi wants to laugh. In this world of deception, manipulation, and betrayal, such an inability to conceal your own feelings is, quite frankly, a death sentence. Akechi has seen it, experienced it, chosen to become its executioner to avoid becoming its victim and wonders, distantly, how this volatile boy managed to go unscathed in such a world.

Across the table, Ryuji fidgets, rubs a firm hand up and down the length of his right thigh in what is most likely a nervous habit, and Akechi remembers, ah yes, that’s right, he hasn’t.

Still, the foolish fire that flares in the former athlete’s eyes is something Akechi can respect. Anger and hatred are powerful motivators that can topple empires, if channeled correctly. Akechi looks forward to seeing the ways the boy (and that’s what he is—a boy, a child) will burn for his convictions.

The soft chime of the bell over LeBlanc’s door rings out clearly even from the floor below them. The low chatter that follows brings Akechi from his thoughts as the rest of the group files into the room.

“Sorry we’re late,” Makoto apologizes, “but someone had to pick up snacks.”

“I had to rush here straight from a shoot!” Ann throws two grocery bags onto the table then roots through one to pull out a bag of chips and a jelly drink. “Besides,” she continues with a wink, “I brought enough to share.”

Ryuji visibly perks up at that and reaches across the table for one of the bags, all former moodiness vanishing in place of a bright grin. “My hero,” he says reverently, snagging a can of soda and popping it open with a snap.

“Something we can agree on,” Morgana adds, purring loudly when Ann slides him a grocery store tuna platter.

Ann rolls her eyes, but her smile is soft. “You’re just easy to please. Plus, I couldn’t have gotten all this if Haru didn’t offer to pay.”

At the mention of her name, Haru shrugs politely, “It’s almost dinner time, and I thought everyone could use a bit of pick me up.”

Futaba whoops through a mouthful of chips and wipes an imaginary tear from her cheek, “Haru, you are too good for this impure world.” Then she frowns at Yusuke as he stares quizzically at the two different choices of gummy candies on the table before him. “Just pick one!”

Yusuke’s brows furrow as he learns further down to inspect each bag. “This one has a higher calorie count and would be more energy efficient,” he mumbles thoughtfully. “But this one is a much more pleasing shade of red.”

Futaba buries her face in her hands, “Inari, please.”

Despite her earlier frustration, Makoto laughs as she slips onto the couch before turning her attention to Akechi and smiling, exasperated but fond. “I hope you know what you’ve just gotten yourself into.”

Akechi’s eyes wander the room, landing on Akira who is regarding his friends with such affection in his eyes and stifling a laugh into his hand at something Ryuji is saying. When the blond boy notices his stare, his eyes narrow in suspicion, but Akechi is unperturbed. The unguarded expressions that flit across his face make him all the easier to read, all the easier to toy with. Idiotic as it may be, his blunt honesty is refreshing in its own way.

Akechi returns Makoto’s smile with one of his own.

This is going to be disgustingly easy, isn’t it?

~

It happens a few days later, while on what the team had called a Mementos Run.

They’ve been here for hours now, meandering aimlessly through an endless maze of floors for no apparent reason and Akechi is tired. There are at least three separate layers of grime and sweat covering his skin, the temperature of each floor is muggier and more oppressive than the last, Morgana’s bus form is cramped with barely enough room for them even without Akechi, and to make matters worse, the morons won’t stop talking.

“I watch TV to glean new information, but the commercials tend to distract me…”

How can one let their attention be so fickle, especially with everything at stake?!

“Whenever I try to study, I end up playing games instead.”

No wonder you can’t get a good grade to save your life.

“It’s so difficult to balance school life with thief life.”

If only such petty things were the only worries for—

“Joker, shadow up ahead!”

Akechi would rather kiss Shido’s ass than fight another battle, but he isn’t given the choice.

They ram into the dark mass before them and the shadow dissolves into another four harmless enemies— it is the monotony more than anything that is driving Akechi up the walls.

“Skull, Mona, Crow, with me!” Joker calls and if Akechi’s hits land harder than usual this battle, none of the others make any comment on it.

“Skull, you hit me!” Mona cries after the shadows have dissipated, rubbing agitatedly at the apparently effected portion of his midriff and glaring daggers at the teammate in question.

“I was confused! It’s not like I could help it!”

“Leave it to you to get confused from such weak enemies.”

“Yes, well, if someone had actually been on top of their Amrita spells, we wouldn’t have this problem in the first place, would we?!”

Akechi doesn’t realize he’s spoken aloud until silence descends upon them, broken only by Mona’s indignant spluttering. It’s a stupid mistake and Akechi knows it. He’s about to apologize profusely to get back in everyone’s good graces but then Skull let’s out a surprised snort.

Suddenly the blond Phantom Thief is doubled over laughing, only making Mona fluster more. “Oh man Mona, you’re gonna need an extinguish orb to take care of that burn!” he snickers. Then Skull is raising a hand, palm directed at Akechi, who stares at the proffered appendage in confusion.

Skull finally raises his head to quirk a brow at Akechi, smile wide and vestiges of mirthful tears still shining in the corner of his eyes. “C’mon man, don’t leave me hanging.”

Oh. Oh, this is one of those bonding things, isn’t it? This is a good thing. This will work in his favor.

Akechi raises his own hand and high fives the other boy. The clap that rings into the now empty Mementos corridor as well as the slight sting it leaves behind is oddly satisfying. Akechi blames the fatigue.

Skull straightens up then and positively beams, slapping a hand on Akechi’s back right between the shoulder blades.

The entire exchange leaves Akechi feeling… unexpectedly disconcerted, uncomfortable and out of his own depth as his exhausted mind struggles to make sense of it all.

He had snapped at Mona, let his anger leak through his carefully crafted façade of friendly smiles and polite pleasantness, and now Skull is smiling at him, bright and entirely genuine, for the first time since they met.

How… odd.

“Okay, okay,” Joker interrupts, “I think everyone is getting a little tense, so we should probably head back for today.”

A round of agreement follows and they make for the closest safe room. Akechi gets enough of a handle on himself to join in on the usual incessant chatter but finds it harder than usual to concentrate on endearing himself.

For the first time, Akechi wonders what it would be like to let himself be a part of… whatever these people are.

~

In the end, Akechi can admit there is a beauty to the cruel irony of fate.

“Dude, you’re more than special…” Ryuji tells him, standing tall, backed by the rest of the Phantom Thieves. Akechi refuses to look up at him, at any of them, kneeling as he is on the battered ground, defeated, helpless, and just— so tired.

A bitter chuckle bubbles low in his throat. Ryuji’s words are a moronic attempt to manipulate him at his most vulnerable, a shallow piece of comfort meant to lure him into helping them by feeding on his desperation to be someone, to mean something, when they all know that the truth is, he is nothing.

Or rather, it should be.

In his world of deception, manipulation, and betrayal, an inability to conceal your own feelings is, quite frankly, a death sentence.

But this boy standing before him is volatile and blunt, hopelessly inept at masking his emotion. He is driven by anger and rebellion, and whether he’s shouting in rage or in joy, he never says anything he doesn’t mean, consequences be damned. Akechi wants to scream. The world should have ripped him to shreds, torn him apart for being so damn honest and yet there he stands, bruised and exhausted but not beaten.

Akechi lets out a shaky gasp of a laugh instead, broken and resigned.

Goro Akechi is nothing special and there are not words that can convince him otherwise.

However, he can accept, maybe, that there are people in the world that genuinely believe he is.

And well, he supposes that’s something, isn’t it?

[psychoangiethings]

The Bloodline [Roman Godfrey x Reader]

A/N: I would like to thank everyone who are reading this. I’m not sure I am really back in tracks with this story since my Word pissed me off and didn’t save a lot of pages I wrote a few weeks back. But let’s hope that bitch will listen now. Sorry for typos, obviously even turned off automatic correction doesn’t mean shit to Word. Leave some comments, if you like. I’ll be glad.

Warning: Adult themes & language, murder

Other tags: Magic, friends to lovers, slow build, nightmares, witches, upirs, swearing

Summary: After very suspicious car crash that killed both of her parents, Abigail Wolff moves in with her aunt to Hemlock Grove only to discover a truly interesting family history which her father kept from her. As she awakens her powers, something much older and terrifying is coming after her. Or maybe not after her at all.

Chapter 10

Masterlist

Chapter 11 - You’re an idiot

After one class at school I could tell it would be boring day as fuck. It was shitty morning, followed by even shittier class in which my thoughts were similar to someone who's planning some kind of murder. What the fuck was he thinking? Was he an idiot or something? Obviously he was, because what kind of person asked how was it for me to watch my parents die? Retard. And what did he expect for answer? Yeah, man! It was terrific! You should try it sometime with your parents, you'll be thrilled.

I was sitting by my desk, looking out of window and waiting for my biology class to start. Some places in the classroom were still empty but I didn't pay attention. I was thinking about how one could brutally but efficiently kill Roman fucking Godfrey. My grip around my pencil was deadly and my tapping with the pencil's point against pages of my notebook was loud.

"Tell me how it felt to see your parents die."

"Spoiled. Rich. Little. Fucker." I furiously muttered under my nose.

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine today?" Peter mocked me and sat down beside me. I didn't even look at him, just tried to calm myself but then I heard the giggle our class dumb bitch let out only when certainsomeone was near. Just to make myself sure I looked around. Yep, there he was. My pencil broke in two.

"Whoah, someone is clearly pissed. What the hell happened?" Peter asked as I bend down to pick what remained of my pencil.

"Nothing. Your retarted friend tried to ask me- No, he did ask me, how it felt to see my parents die. And then he was surprised I didn't answer. What did he expect? Five star review with recommendation?" I wanted to scream at him but I couldn't and knew Peter wasn't in fault here. He didn't do nothing wrong.

"He what?" O-okay, that was so not quiet. Everyone turned their heads in our way and I rolled my eyes.

"Couldn't you be even more louder? I think the principal didn't hear you quite well."

"Idiot, idiot, idiot. He's just an idiot," Peter mumbled to himself as his hand ran through his hair. Then he stood up and made his way to Roman's seat, whispered something to his ear and both of them disappeared. Huh.Weirdos.

×

"It's official. You're an idiot," Peter started even before he could close the door of empty classroom.

Roman rolled his eyes and openedone of many windows to lit up a cigarette. "Why? Because I asked her what basically everyone would ask her if they would know about what happened to her? I don't think so."

"You don's ask people this kind of questions. You ask them how are they, if they slept good or something but not this, Roman. It's like you're from Ice Age. No filter and no empathy." Peter sighed and shook his head.

"It didn't even worked, Peter. If it worked, she wouldn't remember a thing. I was just curious."

"You... You tried your thing on her, right?" Peter was really amazed. Not only Roman was sometimes dumb as shit but he couldn't tell Abigail was a witch and that was the reason his mesmerizing didn't work out.

"Yeah. It never happened before to me. How's possible it didn't work?"

"Maybe because she isn't into you, is stubborn as fuck and isn't trying to get into your pants? Just guessing," Peter offered his opinion and Roman made a face. Again.

"You just made that up, right?"

"Hey, listen, I don't know but maybe it is because she is stubborn. Look at every other girl in this school or town. They want you and they are easily influenced. This one? Right now she hates your guts."

"Yeah, maybe you're right."

×

In my last class of the day I said to our teacher I'm not feeling well and if I may go to the Girls. And because of this class was our teacher a man, he just waved it away and let me go. And that's how I, ladies and gentlemen, ended up about an hour earlier in my room. I just went home. And theoretically I didn't lie. I was pissed at Roman and tried to ignore him all day but wasn't sure if he didn't prepare another stunt after school like yesterday. So I went home.

I sat on my bed cross-legged, my notebook in front of me, earphones plugged in and I tried to relax. I think I did deserve it. Just a little bit of time for myself. A moment where I could forget my parents were dead, that I was a witch.

Knock. Knock.

It was loud knocking. Not my aunt Erika's knocking. Maybe Peter? I huffed and went to get the door.

As soon as I opened it, I immediately regretted it and tried to close it. A fancy leather shoe stopped me from that. "I just want to apologize."

"You just did. Now get out."

"Come on, just let me in, hear me out."

"Will you then piss off?" Probably not the answer he wanted but I let him in anyway and sat on my bed again, before he could say a thing. Now there was definitely awful silence between us. I was looking at him, he was looking at me and neither of us said a thing.

"I think you wanted to apologize. Is this some kind of special silent treatment?" To be honest he did look a bit nervous.

"Let's be clear, I don't know how to do this properly, let alone right. I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have asked that question. I was just curious. I've never met another person who lost parents."

"What do you mean by another person?"

"When I was a child I found my father dead. He blew his brain out."

"Okay, I did not see that coming," I said after few awkward minutes of silence but the anger was still inside. "Still, it's no excuse to ask how it felt for me. You just don't go and ask people this. It makes you look like Neanderthal man."

Roman raised his hands up in defense and nodded. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Can we start again? I promise I won't tell anyone and if someone will have stupid talks how you are my new sex toy or something I will put end to it. Do we have a deal?" He said, surprisingly calm and serious with outstretched hand.

There was this tingle in the back of my neck when I said, "What worse could happen. Fine. But I will deal with gossipers myself. And I try not to comment your sex life. Deal?" I outstretched my own arm and we shook on it while he accepted those terms.

"You, trying not to comment something? Will we have something to talk about at all?" Roman asked with pretended worry in his voice.Little fucker.

×

Olivia Godfrey was old. Very old, came from old blood, bloody money and combination of these two gave disgustingly powerful lineage which was surviving through centuries with no problems.

Head of Godfrey family was spoiled like a brat and even more manipulative bitch. Let's not forget she was also rich and influential, at least for the rest of her subordinates. Many feared her and only people on high positions were able to talk to her. And still it didn't matter if you were head of some department, she would be still looking at you like driver looks at smashed bug on his windshield. Disgusted and unworthy of her attention. There weren't many things that could actually move something inside her - not people, not their opinions and certainly not their actions.

There also wasn't a lot of things that made her afraid. She was surrounding herself with expensive and beautiful stuff using everything she could to distract and cloak herself from reality. Because reality could be boring and somehow a bit dull for Olivia.

But there, sitting in her workroom, fingers gripping edge of desk so hard it hurt, the reality for Olivia was dreadful. Yes, she was old but not that old to live through stories her father told her about. About powerful creature who made their lineage wealthy and... well, almost immortal. How was the creature deceived and banished back to his world.

And now it was back. She knew it, she could feel it inside of her. Like some connection.

Once servant, always servant. I think I will find use for you, Olivia Luspec.

She let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. So there it was. The old, ancient, terrifying evil. Interesting how in one moment you are on top of the game and one second later you're trying just to be alive. Of course there wasn't any visible threat but-

"It's nice to see I still have some effect on others after so many centuries."

[mister-honeynuts]

Prompt: Heritage / Parents Pairing(s): Gwen/David Word Count: 2,273 Summary: Day Three for @gwenvidweek in which Gwen hates David’s parents.

Warning: Contains pretty heavy themes of child neglect as well as a very brief mention of physical abuse. It’s a sad one ;;

Gwen hates David’s parents.

She hates them on that first day of middle school when she meets a lanky ginger boy with a stupid ass smile who talks about camp like it’s some sort of hidden paradise he can’t wait to retreat back to.

It doesn’t take but a day for David to be the target of everyone’s misguided lack of self-esteem. Because he’s unwaveringly happy and optimistic to the most ridiculous degree and middle school is the land of the recently jaded.

Cool is caring too much and claiming you don’t at all and David isn’t capable of that for a second.

He’s the joke that laughs along with itself because he’s too idealistic to realize everyone thinks he’s weird. That Gwen thinks he’s weird even as he gravitates towards her in everything throughout the day after they’re sat together for the ten minutes of homeroom.

At lunch, he coerces Gwen into a conversation about her room that somehow ends with her leading him to her house after school. Or rather, him trailing behind her like a baby duck after he all but invites himself over.

Gwen is sure she’s being manipulated but perhaps the reality is that under all the weird, David is actually incredibly endearing.

He listens when Gwen talks. Actually listens and responds and doesn’t talk over her even when he knows more about whatever they’re talking about than she does. When she backtracks every five minutes with the socially appropriate dismissal of interest, he encourages her to continue like her opinion on Pokemon is a life changing topic that needs to be brought to the light.

It’s nice but something about it seems off.

When they finally make it to Gwen’s house, they’re met by her mom at the door and David freezes. It reminds Gwen of the next door neighbor’s cat that kids in the neighborhood like to throw rocks at. The one that understandably doesn’t much care for children.

Gwen’s mom smiles at David who doesn’t respond other than to remain frozen in front of her. She asks Gwen about her day and they chat lightly for a minute or two before her mom excuses herself, disappearing into the little office attached to the living room.

“Why’s your mom here?” he asks quietly, staring intensely in the direction the woman had just left in.

She remembers thinking he just meant now, in the middle of the afternoon.

“Oh, she works from home. She likes being around. Kinda embarrassing, right?” she answers, laughing but it trails off awkwardly when he doesn’t join in. Instead, he turns his stare to Gwen and she’ll never forget it for the rest of her life.

He looked sad. Worse, he looked scared. Like he’d realized something and Gwen hadn’t known it at the time but that might be the very moment David really understood things weren’t quite right in his house.

“Do your parents work a lot?” she asks curiously, uncomfortable under the weight of this unbefitting look on David’s face. She hasn’t known him but a day and she can already tell, something about this is very wrong.

“I don’t know. They’re not home a lot,” he says, biting his lip so hard, Gwen’s a little afraid he’s going to break through.

“But who makes you dinner?”

“I do?” he answers, like he’s not sure it’s the right answer.

“Oh.” Stupid. A stupid response. “But…laundry? Mom says I have to learn this year but she’ll still do it for me.”

David’s face is heartbreaking. It’s making Gwen’s stomach hurt and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

“You can come here for dinner. Whenever you want. Dad always makes too much anyways so…” she trails off. A couple hours ago, she was avoiding eye contact with him in gym. Hoping the world’s brightest bundle of sunshine didn’t notice her in the hall between classes like he wouldn’t find her once the bell rang and they were sat in the same room.

David is so happy and Gwen is starting to wonder how when he’s clearly capable of so much sad.

“Tell me about your camp again,” she demands, grabbing his hand and leading him upstairs. His hand is warm and calloused from whatever nature bullshit he’d been doing the last three months and like that, he’s the lanky ginger boy with the stupid smile again.

As her bedroom door closes, he launches into another story about somewhere called Camp Campbell and Gwen’s mind wanders to the type of parents who ‘aren’t home a lot’.

She doesn’t like them very much.

—-

Gwen hates David’s parents.

She hates them when David meets a boy their sophomore year that makes his face light up like it only ever does when he talks about camp. Who holds his hand leaning against their lockers between classes and pulls his lip out from under his teeth when he’s nervous, kissing away the bite marks.

It’s a conflicting time.

Gwen doesn’t much care for this boy although she can’t pinpoint why. He’s charming as hell and a nice enough dude. Never says anything less than decent to Gwen even when she pulls David away at the end of the day in the middle of what is surely some sort of convincing argument to come make out in his truck.

David is so happy and even she can’t find fault in that. Won’t allow herself to find fault in it because Gwen could find fault in anything if she was given the chance.

When it comes down to it, David is more important than some mysterious, unidentifiable feeling.

His parents, to her knowledge, had never paid attention to anything he did before so she can’t explain the way she feels when David ends up on her doorstep at eleven o’clock at night with tears dripping down his cheeks and a bruise on the side of his face so purple, it looks black.

“David,” she whispers, grabbing him by the hands because she doesn’t know what she’d do with her own otherwise.

He’s gasping too much to respond and she drags him inside, making calming noises in the hopes that he’ll quiet or she’ll drown him out as they speed past her parents’ room. She pulls him to cradle against her chest, careful of his bruising cheek, and tugs all the blankets she can reach around them to form a secure cocoon.

“Shh, David. It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re okay,” she chatters because she’s pretty sure if she stops talking, the erratic beating of her heart will drown out everything.

It’s twenty minutes before his sobs turn to the occasional hitched breath. Until he’s calm, pressed tight against Gwen, fingers buried in the loose fabric of her night shirt. Her fingers trace shapes into his back like her parents did when she was upset as a kid. An anchor to the right now.

“They don’t want a…someone like me. For a son,” David says finally into the darkness of Gwen’s room.

Gwen knows exactly what it is they told David they didn’t want for a son.

“You don’t need someone like them for parents,” Gwen counters, angry. Stops herself from saying that they never were parents to begin with because the topic only ever serves to make David quiet.

It’s a long night. They fall asleep curled together and for once, Gwen lets David be the little spoon without complaint or tease.

The next day, Gwen covers up the bruise the best she can with her less than ideal foundation skills before school and David pulls his boyfriend aside with a soft, apologetic smile just before the bell.

“We can’t date anymore,” Gwen overhears from her position a few lockers away, totally not spying. It can be excused after the night they had, she thinks.

Her heart breaks for the hundredth time in David’s honor and she shakes from the sheer rage that bubbles up, burning her chest like acid. And the worst part of all is that the other boy just nods in easy agreement.

Part of Gwen gets it. The rational part. It’s not like they were in love. They’d only been hanging out for a few weeks and that was the reality of high school. But he made David so happy. Genuinely, disgustingly, camp levels of happy.

It shouldn’t end like this. Not with an unwarranted smile. Not without any question.

He may not love David but he should care. Should care about the choice of the word ‘can’t’. Should just fucking care.

David slides up to her side after they part, linking their arms together and she does her best to control the shaking.

“Oh, buck up Gwen! What’s one high school romance? My soulmate is out there somewhere,” he consoles her. Consoles her, like she’s the one having to deny a whole part of herself because of shitty parents who decided to pay attention for once at the exact wrong moment.

“You deserve the best person, David,” she says in a rare moment of sincerity. “Whoever that person is.”

“I’ve got the best person right here! And I know two people who are going to make the day so much better after school,” he says with a tired smile as they walk arm in arm to class.

“Ben and Jerry?” she wagers a guess.

“Ben and Jerry,” he agrees.

Ben and Jerry fixes a lot of things. It’s their cure-all for bad days and tough weeks and long months but Gwen thinks David’s parents might be the one thing ice cream can’t fix.

She’s not sure if anything can.

—-

Gwen hates David’s parents.

She hates them when David’s face flashes with recognition as Max falls apart before them, insisting that they don’t listen. That his parents don’t give a fuck and they never did with the implication that they could never understand.

Max will never know how intimately David understands.

David gives her a look and she knows what they’re going to do without either of them ever having to exchange a word. She’s not shocked as they pull away from camp, leaving the mess of Parent’s Day to Campbell. She’s not though this is entirely out of character for David.

Max is special to David. She picks up on that easily and now she wonders if David had suspected this. If their supposed similarities had led him to this uneasy conclusion. If he’d doubted himself on it the way he still doubts that his own parents did anything wrong.

Later, when they’re back from their momentary escape from camp and shit parents and the cruelty of the world as a whole, Gwen slides into David’s bed to spoon up behind him as the sound of crickets chirping fills the night air.

They’re silent for a while even though Gwen can feel that David is still awake.

“Are you okay?” she asks finally when it’s obvious he’s not going to say anything.

“Oh gosh, Gwen. I’m not the one who’s not okay,” he sighs, hand finding hers where it’s slung around his stomach.

She thinks of a hundred different ways to say that it’s okay if he’s not. That David’s feelings, his experiences, didn’t invalidate Max or overshadow the concern David felt for him. She tries to think of a way to say it that would push past David’s ideology that everyone on earth came before himself.

“He’s such a good kid. It’s not fair,” David whispers before she can find the words she needs.

It’s the most honest he’s been in a long time.

“You know that’s not how it works. Kids don’t earn bad parents. Nobody deserves that,” she says, hugging him closer and taking comfort in the way he accepts her comfort so willingly.

David does mental acrobatics trying to justify injustice because he just refuses to fathom that people could be out to hurt him intentionally or otherwise, that he doesn’t deserve it in some way. He doesn’t allow himself to think that way in regards to Max.

Not with this.

As David falls asleep, Gwen muses over the fact that she somehow managed to do the impossible. She never thought she’d find someone she hates as much as David’s parents.

Max’s parents proved her wrong.

—-

Gwen hates David’s parents.

She hates them when David idolizes Campbell for paying him the slightest bit of attention, only ever when he needs something.

She hates them when David looks at Max with openly tragic eyes at the end of camp.

She hates them for every fucking letter they send, once a year to guilt David for cutting contact, like it wasn’t something that tore him up inside.

She hates them.

The only thing they ever did right was bring David into the world and their record ends there. Everything that David had, that David was, was a product of his own determination. His own efforts.

David is the most important person in Gwen’s life. He’s an idiot and she loves him. She loves him so much, she thinks it’s going to burst out of her one day. A flood of all the joy and hurt and rage that makes up their past, present, and future.

Gwen’s not sure if they’re ever going to stop stumbling upon new reasons for her to hate his parents but she sure as hell knows that she’ll be the one wading through the wreckage of the damage they’ve done.

She’s not sure she really believes in soulmates but she’s prepared to try to be the best person.

They’ll meet somewhere in the middle because Gwen hates David’s parents but she loves David.